


The Intricacies of Methodical Readjustment

by starrysummernights



Series: The Illusion of Control [16]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha Greg Lestrade, Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Anal Sex, Bad Sex, Good Sex, Greg just needs to work through some things, Healthy Relationships, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega John Watson, Omega Mycroft, Omega Verse, References to Knotting, Scenting, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-14 21:13:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13598505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrysummernights/pseuds/starrysummernights
Summary: Takes place after An Unexpected Snarl.Greg is beating himself up for the way Mycroft's first heat went, blaming himself entirely. But Mycroft's body isn't adapted to undergoing heat. Luckily (or unluckily), there's a solution."The medically prescribed devices are unspeakably embarrassing.They are also very lewd, sitting in a neat, perverted row on Mycroft’s bed. Rudely obvious in their intentions. Mycroft’s eyes keep sliding away, reluctant to notice them, no matter how much he tries to force himself to look. He doesn’t want to see them. Wishes they weren’t there. That the devices didn’t exist and, even if they did, that they didn’t exist for him to use. The fact that his doctor has prescribed them and that they are legitimate medical devices made specially for Omegas is neither here nor there. If anything, it makes the entire situation worse. It means Mycroft will actually have to use them. Because he’s an Omega. Because they are in some way beneficial for his health."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I would highly suggest reading An Unexpected Snarl which details the events of Mycroft and Greg's first heat together. It did not go well.
> 
> I'm back, baby! More Illusion of Control- does anyone even still remember this series? Lol.

The medically prescribed devices are unspeakably embarrassing.

They are also very lewd, sitting in a neat, perverted row on Mycroft’s bed. Rudely obvious in their intentions. Mycroft’s eyes keep sliding away, reluctant to notice them, no matter how much he tries to force himself to look. He doesn’t want to see them. Wishes they weren’t there. That the devices didn’t exist and, even if they did, that they didn’t exist for him to use. The fact that his doctor has prescribed them and that they are legitimate medical devices made specially for Omegas is neither here nor there. If anything, it makes the entire situation _worse_. It means Mycroft will actually have to _use_ them. Because he’s an Omega. Because they are in some way beneficial for his health.

Dammit.

Mycroft has memorized his doctor’s instructions, but he still opens the little pamphlet that came with the...instruments...to see what it says.

Predictable.

  * _Start with the smallest device_ (Who the hell would rush for the biggest one?)


  * _Use plenty of lubrication_ (Were people really that idiotic they had to be told?...then Mycroft remembers how he and Greg had forgotten that very thing during Mycroft’s last heat, which is at least partially responsible for Mycroft’s current use of the devices. Mycroft wrinkles his nose. Moving on.)


  * _Relax your body_ (Obviously not possible when shoving medical grade bits of silicone inside of it, complete with obscene bulbous knots supposed to simulate an Alpha’s protuberance.)


  * _Remember to give yourself time to adjust_ (There would never be enough time in the world for Mycroft to adjust.)


  * _Don’t rush the process in order to move to a bigger size_ (No worries there. Mycroft eyes the largest device with extreme trepidation, then has to look away, cheeks heating with color. Oh god. He can’t do this.)



He has to. He turns back to the pamphlet.

  * _Be certain your body can handle progression before attempting a larger size._



And despite his reservations over the whole situation, his many, many, many reservations, Mycroft knows that progression to the largest device is the goal. He knows that if he wants to make it through another heat with Greg- or have a slim chance of even _convincing_ Greg to share a heat with him again- Mycroft has to prepare himself for it.

Which, unfortunately, means shoving pieces of silicone up his arse. Pieces of silicone with indecent swellings at the base of them.

Mycroft spends a few bleak minutes contemplating his life choices which have led him to this moment.

The last line in the pamphlet is the most unhelpful of all:

  * _The Omega may find it beneficial for their Alpha to assist them through the process._



That is out of the fucking question. The Omega in question would rather die, literally drop dead, than let Greg see any of these devices. Or watch as Mycroft uses them on himself. It’s bad enough that Mycroft has told Greg what his doctor said, and what he will be doing. It’s even worse that Greg knows at some point in time Mycroft is following his doctor’s instructions by putting the devices to their intended purpose. How much worse would it be for Greg to actually watch while Mycroft does it?

Mycroft suppresses a shudder of revulsion. That will not be happening. He may have to subject himself to this exasperating ordeal, but Mycroft will go back on suppressants first before he allows his Alpha to watch him do this.

It doesn’t help the situation that he and Greg haven’t been intimate in more than a month. Not since the night of Mycroft’s heat when everything had gone tits up. In other words, spectacularly awful. They’ve seen each other, of course, more than a few times, and met for regular dates...but the evenings always end at the front door. As if they’re teenagers. Greg refusing to engage in anything sexual or further contact beyond a lukewarm snog before he pulls away with a sigh and tells Mycroft goodnight.

It has left Mycroft feeling distinctly...neglected. He misses Greg’s attentions and twice has woken himself by emitting in his sleep, his dreams so graphic as to make his heart race and his body to unconsciously frot against the bed- which was almost as embarrassing a thing to do as ejaculating in his sleep. Mycroft had changed the soiled sheets, furious at Greg for doing this to him and angry at himself because he knew that he was being unfair. Mycroft didn’t need Greg. He could have easily touched himself and had an orgasm on his own. It wasn’t like the early days when Mycroft had first gone off his suppressants, when the only thing that triggered his orgasm were Greg’s teeth at the back of his neck (and it had taken them _forever_ to figure that out). Mycroft’s body has adjusted by now and that means that he is fully capable of sexually satisfying himself. He doesn’t need his Alpha to make him come anymore but…

Mycroft _wants_ Greg to make him come. To touch him. He _wants_ Greg to kiss him, sticking his tongue in Mycroft’s mouth and moaning when he feels just how hard Mycroft is for him. Mycroft _wants_ Greg to jerk him off, scenting him while he does it and acting like Mycroft’s erection is the best damn thing in the whole world. Which is what Greg does. Every. Single. Time.

It’s extremely gratifying. A paltry handjob Mycroft could give himself pales in comparison.

The memories are enough to make Mycroft’s penis stir with interest- and longing. Because he knows Greg won’t do any of those things. Not until he forgives himself and not until he knows that Mycroft is better and ready for his next heat.

Mycroft’s never been more annoyed with Greg’s incessant respectfulness than he is in that moment. Which is very, very unfair. It doesn’t, however, stop Mycroft from feeling that way.

Well. There is nothing else for it.

Mycroft sighs and reaches for the lubrication and the smallest device before he loses his nerve. Or talks himself out of it. He’s left off his pajamas in preparation for defiling himself and so, naked, he lays himself out on the bed. He’s horribly embarrassed at being in the situation, even though it’s just himself in the flat and no one else will see him doing this. Mycroft will see himself doing it, though, and that’s the only person who really matters.

Even knowing that, it still takes Mycroft a few moments to work up the bravery to spread his legs, then pull his knees up and splay them to the sides, leaving himself completely exposed. A cold breeze wafts between Mycroft’s legs. He winces. Wants to call the whole thing off.

Dear god, he hates this.

He’d really, honestly, rather _not_.

Then, Mycroft thinks of the previous night. The way Greg had looked at him over dinner, his eyes dark and yearning. The tension in the air on the way back to Mycroft’s. Their kiss at Mycroft’s door, Greg’s scent filling his lungs...and the disappointing way Greg had gently unwound Mycroft’s arms from his waist, looking regretful when he told him goodnight.

Mycroft sighs.

Dammit to fucking bloody hell.

Before he loses his nerve, Mycroft pours a generous amount of lubricant on the device, then, pretending he isn’t actually doing this, positions the cold, lifeless silicone where it’s supposed to go. He takes a deep breath and pushes steadily, feeling his body give way as he continues relentlessly. Mycroft’s not the slightest bit aroused. His cock is completely limp and uninterested. He can’t imagine it any other way in this scenario.

His hole stretches over the widest part of the device- Mycroft wrinkles his nose in discomfort- and then gasps in surprise when the device with its knot finally pops inside of him. His rim closes over the base of it and...that’s that.

It’s….weird. Peculiar.

Mycroft squirms, trying to adjust. He had hoped, but it’s not at all like having Greg’s cock inside of him. That always feels very nice. Very, very nice. And warm. And Greg kisses Mycroft while he fucks him, leaning over Mycroft and holding himself up with his arms while he moves over him, steady and perfect, his thrusts rough and jarring and usually making Mycroft come untouched.

This is nothing like that.

This feels exactly like Mycroft has an inanimate lump of silicone shoved up his arse. It’s incredibly demeaning. Strange.

There is no way he could come from this.

He wants it gone. Immediately.

Mycroft closes his eyes and reminds himself why he is doing this: Greg. Being intimate with Greg again. Sharing his heats with Greg. Mycroft won’t be able to do that unless he uses the sodding devices.

He lays on the bed a while with the device inside him, wondering if he’s supposed to be doing something else. The pamphlet didn’t specify. It did say that each device should remain inside the Omega’s passage for “a considerable length of time so as to give the body time to adjust.” Whatever the hell that means. It didn’t even say what that length of time was. It’s a glaring oversight in the pamphlet and Mycroft thinks of writing the makers of the device about it.

On second thought, no. He won’t mention this to anyone.

Ever.

Mycroft frowns up at the ceiling. He supposes he could get some work done while he waits. It will take his mind off things.

Rolling out of bed makes the device shift awkwardly, but once Mycroft is standing, he can barely feel it. He still knows it’s there, of course, but it’s easier to pretend that it’s not. There’s paperwork that needs doing in his study. Mycroft had stopped bringing most of his work home while he and Greg had been...enjoying each other. Now that’s all gone, and Mycroft brings as much work as he can with him because he knows he’ll need something to fill the void in his flat which Greg has left behind.

Mycroft can finish the paperwork, which should take a “considerable length of time,” and then he can mercifully end this and go to bed.

Alone.

Again.

Joy.


	2. Chapter 2

“So.” Greg breaks the uneasy silence during dinner, trying to inject as much enthusiasm as he can into his voice, and giving Mycroft what he hopes is an encouraging smile. “How’s the uh…” He trails off, waving his hand in what he feels is a suggestive enough gesture. Mycroft, however, raises his eyebrows, face impassive. Waits for Greg to elaborate.

Greg is not that brave.

They’re in too public a place- their favorite restaurant- and it may be later than usual, almost midnight, and so most of the patrons are already gone and therefore won’t hear what Greg will say but... Besides, Greg knows that Mycroft _knows_ what he is talking about. He’s just clearly not going to help Greg with this discussion though. Christ.

Okay, then.

“The...uh, doctor’s orders?” It’s a nice euphemism. Greg’s had a lot of practice coming up with them. He knows from previous queries that Mycroft will not speak to him, will completely shut down, if Greg explicitly refers to just what those doctor’s orders are.

“Fine.” Mycroft turns back to his meal as if that’s all the response he’ll be giving. A minute slips by while Greg stares at Mycroft, waiting for more.

“Fine?” Greg prods after a while, when he realizes Mycroft isn’t going to say anything else. “Just...fine?”

“Yes.” Mycroft gives Greg a Look from across the table. “That is what I just said.”

“Yeah, I heard. And I mean, that’s great. Really great. A relief, actually. I’ve been wondering how you were getting on with it, is all. I know it’s not something you would have ever...before...so I just hoped it was going well.” Greg’s digging himself into a hole with every word that come out of his mouth. He watches Mycroft’s eyes narrow and Greg knows he needs to shut up, but he can’t seem to make himself stop. “So. I’m glad it’s going fine. I just...are there any...um...issues?”

Mycroft gives Greg an incredulous look. “What possible issues could I be having?”

“Well, I-”

“I assure you that I am intelligent enough to know how to use them, Gregory.”

“No! _No_ , I didn’t say that you weren’t.” Greg quickly says, backing down and letting the subject drop. He shouldn’t have brought it up. Mycroft always gets so tetchy whenever Greg tries to discuss it with him. He should have just left it alone.

He can’t.

It’s because of him that Mycroft’s having to do this. It’s because of Greg that Mycroft got hurt in the first place.

They spend the next few minutes in stony silence, unbroken by anything other than the muted, late-night noise of the restaurant around them. The murmur of the few other patrons as they enjoy their night out. Laughter. Clinking silverware against glass. Soft background music. A muffled clattering from the kitchen. A few of the servers are gathered at the front of the restaurant, joking while they wait for closing time. They’re making plans to meet at a pub down the street.

It all serves to highlight the silent awkwardness at their own table. Greg wants to talk but doesn't know what to say, and Mycroft, for his part, doesn’t seem to want to talk at all. Greg despondently picks at his food, sneaking glances at Mycroft when he knows the Omega isn’t looking.

God, but Greg _misses_ him.

It’s been more than a month since they’ve been together and yes, Greg misses the sex- a fucking lot, actually- but he misses other stuff too. He misses going to sleep with Mycroft, tucking his face into the bend of Mycroft’s neck and inhaling his delicate new scent as he goes to sleep. He misses eating breakfast with Mycroft each morning before they both have to leave for work. He misses the way Mycroft uses Greg’s tie to drag Greg to him for a lengthy snog before they part for the day. He misses lazy evenings spent in front of the telly, doing nothing, both tired from a long day, understanding each other without words and not getting huffy when the other yawns or their eyelids droop. Greg misses holding Mycroft’s feet in his lap when the Omega stretches out on the sofa, absently rubbing at them until he realizes that Mycroft has gone to sleep...and Greg even misses sitting on the sofa until his arse goes numb because he doesn’t want to wake Mycroft.

He misses ‘good morning’ kisses and ‘thanks for making me coffee’ kisses, ‘you’re being stupid’ kisses and ‘thanks for laying out my jacket’ kisses. ‘I’m late for work’ kisses. ‘I haven’t seen you in days and fuck I’ve missed you’ kisses. ‘I’m too tired for sex but I still want you’ kisses. ‘Go the fuck back to sleep it’s the weekend and it’s too damn early for this but thanks anyway’ kisses.

Greg misses seeing Mycroft almost every day. Going back to Mycroft’s flat after work had been the highlight of Greg’s day. He’s been staying at his own flat again which, after months of basically living with Mycroft, feels woefully empty now.

But most of all, Greg misses the way that Mycroft understands him. Maybe it’s because they’re both older, and more mature, but there’s no tiresome posturing or mind games or passive aggressive behavior in their relationship like Greg experienced in his own failed marriage. They communicate. They talk. Greg always feels so easy with Mycroft, and he knows the Omega feels the same way about him. Relaxed. Accepting. Happy.

Greg fucking _misses_ Mycroft.

Mycroft catches Greg looking at him and offers him a soft smile, letting Greg know that he’s not really mad at him- and in that moment Greg suddenly wants Mycroft so much that it takes his breath away. It’s trite, but the air freezes in Greg’s lungs as a horrible, pressing need grips him. He wants to lean across the table and scent Mycroft. It’s been so fucking long. He wants to pull the Omega to him and scent him. Thoroughly. Make Mycroft smell like him again, and hear the contented hum Mycroft always gives while Greg does it.

Greg won’t do that, no matter how much he wants to. He doesn’t think he deserves to scent Mycroft. Not anymore. That should be for Alphas who haven’t made their Omegas bleed, who haven’t hurt them so badly they end up in hospital.

Greg can still remember the horrendous shock of seeing Mycroft’s blood. The fear which had gripped him, not knowing what was wrong...and then the icy realization of what he’d done. The drive to hospital with Mycroft beside him, helpless to his heat, not understanding or knowing what was going on, and asking Greg to knot him. Begging. Telling Greg he was in pain. And Mycroft had been even more terrified when they got to hospital. He’d clutched at Greg, panicked, thinking that Greg was actually going to let other people _take_ him, begging him not to...

Guilt is thick and choking. Acrid on the back of Greg’s tongue, even now, weeks later. Mycroft’s fine. He’s healed. He’s assured Greg that he’s better. They’ve discussed what happened and Mycroft has explained that Greg needs to forgive himself and move forward, that Mycroft himself already has. He says he doesn’t blame Greg, that they were both partially at fault for what happened.

Which is a sodding _lie_.

Mycroft had been out of his goddamned mind with heat. He hadn’t been thinking of anything except getting relief from it. Getting Greg’s knot. Omegas aren’t ever expected to have perfect cognizance during a heat, and there was no way Mycroft could be held responsible for anything that took place. Greg had barely been able to make him understand why they were at hospital, and even then, Mycroft had largely ignored him.

Greg was the Alpha. He had been the one in charge. The one who was supposed to be thinking for the both of them so bad things didn’t happen.

Mycroft should have never been hurt. At all. Period. If Greg had been more careful, if he had taken care of Mycroft and not gone so fast, taken the time to make sure Mycroft was ready the way a good Alpha should have done…

Greg had always thought he was a good Alpha.

But he felt that he had deserved John’s look of utter disgust at hospital when he’d read what had happened, looking at Greg as if he’d never seen him properly before, dark thoughts sliding through his eyes while Mycroft lay in the hospital bed-

_“No Omega should sustain these sorts of injuries as long as all parties are consenting and the Alpha isn’t being brutal.”_

John was right. They shouldn’t. And yes, okay- Greg understands that his and Mycroft’s case is different because after being on suppressants for close to 20 years, Mycroft’s body isn’t adapted to heat. He doesn’t produce enough natural wetness. He failed to dilate properly, his body unable to take a knot. Greg had _known_ there would be complications though, going into it. He should have accounted for them. He had _planned_ to account for them.

He hadn’t.

He’d been too rough and gone too fast. He shouldn’t have _shoved_ his knot inside Mycroft like he had. He should have used the lube, slowly slid it inside. Carefully, to make sure he didn't hurt him.

Sherlock had basically accused Greg at hospital of assaulting his brother and while Greg wouldn’t go that far...he thinks of the sweetly innocent way Mycroft had offered himself to Greg during his heat, the first one he’d had in decades, his higher mental functions severely impaired- which was why Mycroft had always hated his heats in the first place...but he’d trusted Greg. Out of everyone else, Mycroft had trusted Greg to share his heat with, and he had given himself to Greg, trusting the Alpha wouldn’t hurt him, and then…

Maybe Sherlock wasn’t so far off base, Greg thinks glumly.

“Look. I didn’t mean to pry.” He begins quietly, his appetite entirely gone. He pushes his plate away, the smell of the food nauseating. “I know it’s a personal thing. And I know that you’re smart enough to know how to use them correctly. Obviously. I’d never imply you weren’t. If anyone would know how, it’d be you...I just wondered.”

Mycroft eyes Greg for a long minute, then something in his expression softens. “Wondered what?” He asks, gentle, but Greg sighs, shaking his head. He doesn’t know how to explain.

Mycroft is his Omega. He just is (not that Greg feels like he deserves him anymore). They may not be bonded, but they’re together. Greg’s body responds to Mycroft and his scent, lights up like a damn Christmas tree when he’s near him...and Greg may hate himself and feel guilty as fuck about what happened...but he also feels an overwhelming drive to make things better. To take care of his Omega. Provide for him. Help. Coddle. Pamper. Console. He can’t stop himself feeling it, and Greg has been wrestling with the urge for the past month. He hasn’t mentioned it to Mycroft because he doesn’t think he deserves to act on it. Mycroft probably doesn’t want Greg’s help anyway.

But now, sitting across from Mycroft and wanting him so damn much, unable to scent him in the restaurant, thinking he’ll crawl out of his own skin if he’s not allowed to do something, _anything_ , for his Omega…Greg’s resolve crumbles.

“Gregory?”

“Nothing. I just wanted...since everything is going okay I guess you don’t need me to...but I thought you might want me to...help?”

“Why?” Mycroft’s genuine bewilderment makes Greg realize just how idiotic his suggestion was. He wishes he’d never opened his mouth. “Why would I want you to _help_?”

Greg flushes, feeling like he could sink through the floor. “You wouldn’t want me to. I know that. And I understand why you wouldn’t. I do. I mean...I knew that, but I thought I’d still ask because it seemed like something...I dunno. It was stupid. Just forget it.”

Mycroft still seems to be reeling from Greg’s question. “Why would you want to help me with...that? It is literally, without exaggeration, one of the most unpleasant experiences I’ve ever undergone.”

Greg’s stomach drops. “Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“Good.” Thank god for that. It had been what Greg was most afraid of: that he’d permanently damaged Mycroft in some way. Which he knew was silly. Mycroft had only needed one stitch. He was already better. It had still been a fear, though.

“It doesn’t hurt but it is nevertheless an uncomfortable situation. I’m manually using suggestively shaped silicone devices each day to try and teach my body to properly dilate during our next heat so as to make room for your knot. Why in the world would you want to be involved in that?”

God. Greg would _love_ to be involved in that.

Not only would he be close to Mycroft again, but he’d maybe get to scent him a bit too. Touch him. Take slow and gentle care of him. Fuck, he would love to take care of Mycroft. It would make Greg feel useful. And he isn’t above admitting that he wants to see the gorgeous way Mycroft comes again, his brow scrunched, looking like he’s confused about what he’s feeling, the sensations he’s experiencing, each and every time. Greg doesn’t even think Mycroft knows he does it.

It drives Greg _wild_.

“Um. I don’t know. It was just a suggestion. A stupid one. Really. Just forget it.”

* * *

 

Greg is aroused.

It’s such a shock that Mycroft sits back in his chair, openly staring at the reddening Alpha. Greg is aroused at the idea of Mycroft using the medically prescribed devices on himself. All the signs are there. Astonished, Mycroft watches Greg as he unconsciously runs his tongue along his lower lip, a dull flush creeping up his neck, eyes averted, and rolling his shoulders to ease the tension.

Greg is embarrassed, yes, but he is also blatantly aroused.

Mycroft won’t lie: it’s very flattering to be the object of Greg’s sexual interest once more. Mycroft had wondered a few times in the last month if maybe their spectacularly awful first heat together had put paid to any amorous feelings Greg felt towards him. He worried that Greg was only still with him because he felt badly for what had happened during Mycroft’s heat. It’s good to have proof that he was wrong.

“I…” Mycroft frowns, then falls silent. He doesn’t know how to even start a conversation about this. “Perhaps I’m not understanding you, Gregory.”

“Hm?”

“You are suggesting that you can, in some way, assist me while using the...devices?”

Greg sighs with unmistakable exasperation, rolling his eyes as if Mycroft is being deliberately annoying. His flush also deepens and so does Mycroft’s frown. “It was a stupid idea, Mycroft. All right? I know it was stupid. I get it. You don’t want me to help. I understand and-“

“I didn’t say it was a stupid idea, and I wasn’t saying no.”

“You...weren’t?”

“No. It’s only...I don’t entirely understand how you could be of assistance during a medical procedure to treat my sexual dysfunction.”

Greg frowns, tilting his head to the side as if he’s confused, and Mycroft suddenly thinks he may have entirely misread Greg’s intentions.

“If that’s what you meant, of course. I’m not saying we can’t try it.” He says, doubting himself. “I just honestly haven’t the faintest idea what you could do.”

“Mm.” Greg glances around to make sure they’re all alone, that no one is nearby, then leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Mycroft...can I ask…?”

“You may.”

“Right...um...How...how exactly are you...uh, using them?”

“I’ve already told you that I know how to use them correctly.” Mycroft reminds Greg stiffly. He cannot believe that Greg is still on about this. Is that why he wants to help? Because he doesn’t think Mycroft is capable of treating himself? Has seeing the mindless way Mycroft acts while he experiences his heat changed Greg’s opinion of him? Does he now doubt Mycroft’s intelligence even when he is not impaired? Mycroft wouldn’t have thought Greg capable of that, and the idea that he might be leaves Mycroft feeling hollow. “Not only did my doctor provide me with explicit instructions, but I also read the pamphlet which came with them. I hope I remain literate enough to follow basic directives. It’s not exactly difficult.”

“Mm.” Greg nods, agreeing, but if anything Mycroft’s assurance makes him look even more bemused. “So you...follow the instructions?”

“ _Yes_.” Mycroft tries to instill as much irritation as he can into the word. “I can read, Gregory.”

“Yeah, I know you can. But just...so. When you use them are you...do you...enjoy it? In any way?”

“No.”

“Not in _any_ way?” Greg presses and Mycroft frowns at him.

“No.”

“Okay. Well. In that case. I thought maybe I could make it...less awful for you. But...it’s...just forget it.” Greg rambles to a stop and Mycroft has a quick, fierce debate with himself.

He emphatically _does not_ want Greg to help him. He does not want Greg to watch him use the devices. He doesn’t. The idea makes Mycroft’s stomach crawl with shame.

But…

The idea- for reasons which Mycroft cannot fathom- excites Greg. He’s volunteering to help Mycroft, visibly aroused while he does so, and if this is the only way Mycroft can lure Greg back into his bed… he’ll do it. He doesn’t want to.

He _does_ want Greg, though.

“One of the instructions in the pamphlet said it may be helpful for the Alpha partner to assist in the procedure.” Mycroft picks his words with care. “If you really don’t mind to assist me, I suppose we could try your suggestion.” Mycroft has a sudden vision of he and Greg sitting on his sofa together, twined around each other, scenting, relaxing...while Mycroft has one of the devices shoved inside him. It dims the promising glow of the vision somewhat, but still suffuses Mycroft with enough longing that he continues. “Clearly you have something in mind. I’m willing to try it. As long as you really want to?”

It’s highly flattering- and Mycroft knows he’s made the right choice- when Greg doesn’t even pause to think about it.

“God, yes.”


	3. Chapter 3

The ride back to Mycroft’s flat is fraught with tension. They each keep to their own sides of the car, sneaking glances at the other as they get closer and closer to their destination, the promise of _what will be taking place_ hanging unspoken in the air between them. It’s been so long since they’ve been intimate that Mycroft is more nervous than aroused, especially since he knows what they’ll be doing once they get to the flat. He’s prepared to suffer through a few minutes shame, however, if that means he gets to spend the rest of the night with Greg. As pathetic as it sounds, Mycroft will do anything for that at this point.

It’s a humbling thought.

Mycroft is forcibly reminded of the time he compared Sherlock to a performing dog in his attempts to glean praise from John Watson. He grimaces and promises to be nicer to his little brother in future.

Greg is a noticeable presence at Mycroft’s back walking down the hall to his flat. It makes Mycroft’s stomach jump, shivery with anxiety, and he’s highly aware of Greg in very minute, embarrassing ways. The rasp of his clothing. The sound of his breathing. The heavy footfalls on the carpet matching each of Mycroft’s. Enticing swirls of Greg’s scent-

Mycroft uncharacteristically fumbles with his keys trying to unlock the door to his flat, hands shaking the tiniest bit, thinking only of the Alpha at his back. The Alpha he wants to scent. And kiss. And fuck-

As soon as they’re inside, Mycroft turns, intent on asking Greg if he wouldn’t mind very much if they scented before beginning the distasteful medical portion of their evening- but Greg is already there, giving Mycroft a delicate kiss which tingles all the way down his body.

“Thanks for letting me help.”

“I...I wanted you to.” It’s a lie, but Mycroft’s glad he told it when Greg lights up, eyes sparkling and a happy smile spreading across his face.

Mycroft sways forward, wanting another kiss, and Greg meets him halfway. His lips are warm against Mycroft’s, smooth, parting to deepen the kiss, and Mycroft sinks into it with passivity, wanting Greg to take charge and direct it. Greg, though, is holding back. He’s too far away. Even kissing, there’s too much space between them. Greg’s posture is reserved, the way he touches Mycroft tightly restricted. Barely touching him at all actually.

Mycroft hates it.

He tries to pull Greg to him, hands insistent on his hips, but Greg resists.

“Please?” Mycroft asks before he can stop himself, ashamed that he has to beg his Alpha to scent him...but he needs it. It’s been weeks. “Please, Gregory?”

Greg’s breath hitches. His hands spasm, as if to drag Mycroft to him...but he doesn’t move. Mycroft whimpers into their kiss and tries again.

“Please?”

“What do you want?” Greg asks, as if he doesn’t know. Mycroft breaks their kiss so he can demurely tilt his head to the side, a clear offering to be scented. He shouldn’t have to explain himself. But Greg still doesn’t scent him. Mycroft’s heart splinters at the inherent rejection. He exhales shakily, biting his lip to try and keep it in...but the instinct to plead with his Alpha is too strong.

Logically, Mycroft knows what occured during his last heat. He knows why it happened. All the events leading up to it. What had gone wrong. Everything that came afterward. He understands why he was taken to hospital and why his heat was cut short. He knows why Greg has been withdrawn ever since that night and is perfectly capable of comprehending his own emotional response to the incident, as well as Greg’s. It’s a problem that requires a rational response and Mycroft knows exactly what they can do to fix it.

The Omega part of him, however, doesn’t understand anything.

_At all_.

It cannot be reasoned with or rationalized away. It’s an instinctual part of Myroft made up of compulsion and need that whispers in his head: _His Alpha said that he would share Mycroft’s heat with him. He promised. He knotted Mycroft once. Something went wrong. His Alpha took him somewhere strange. Foreign. Smelled wrong. Rejected him. His Alpha left Mycroft with people he didn’t know. Abandoned him. Left Mycroft alone. Mycroft hadn’t been good enough. His Alpha hadn’t wanted him. His Alpha made other people cut Mycroft’s heat short so they wouldn’t have to spend the rest of it together. He didn’t want Mycroft. His Alpha hasn’t been close to him in weeks. He won’t scent him. He won’t scent him. His Alpha doesn’t want him. He doesn’t want him. He doesn’t want him..._

Mycroft’s fingers twist in Greg’s shirt as the anxious whispering gets louder. Mycroft knows this response is entirely irrational. Greg had taken him to hospital because he was hurt. Greg hadn’t rejected Mycroft and his heat had been cut short because he was injured. It had been necessary. Greg loves him. Mycroft knows that. They are still together. Greg is just insisting on beating himself up over what happened, that’s all. That’s the reason for his reticence. Nothing else. They can fix this, it will just take time. Everything is fine.

But no matter how hard Mycroft tries, he can’t stop it…

_His Alpha won’t scent him. Won’t scent him. Won’t scent him. Won’t scent him. Too far away. Can’t stand to touch him. Failed Omega. Wasn’t good enough-_

“I need it.” Mycroft clutches at Greg’s shirt until he’s afraid the fabric will rip, silently begging Greg to scent him. Mycroft doesn’t want to beg. Not out loud. It’s undignified. He doesn’t think he should have to.

_Wasn’t good enough. Wasn’t good enough. Doesn’t want you. Beg. Ask. Plead. Beg. Beg. Beg. If that’s what your Alpha wants. Do it. Show him you can be good. Show him you can do what he wants. You didn’t last time. This is your chance. Ask. Beg. Plead. Beg. Beg-_

Mycroft trembles, fighting against the rising tide of discomfort and fear. Greg has never done something like this to him before. Why would he start now? He’s not like other Alphas. He's never made Mycroft…

Mycroft’s fingers spasm involuntarily, still knotted in Greg’s shirt, and he hears a small rip as a stitch gives.

“What do you need from me, Mycroft?” Greg asks gently and Mycroft closes his eyes in defeat. Why is Greg doing this to him? Why is he making Mycroft do this? Why-

_Beg. Beg. Beg. Beg. That’s what your Alpha wants. That’s what he wants so give it to him. Be a good Omega. He wants it said, out loud. Proof of your desire. He wants to hear how much you want him-_

_Oh_.

Of course.

Relief washes over Mycroft as instinct and intellect perfectly align, finally understanding (it took him an embarrassingly long few seconds). Greg isn’t rejecting him. Not even close. Greg wants verbal consent, obvious proof, of what Mycroft is asking him for. It’s not rejection. It’s Greg being respectful, reserved in a way he’s never been with Mycroft before, but it’s not rejection.

The quandary solved, any misgivings of what’s happening vanish. Mycroft’s mind is back in perfect harmony, intellect and instinct balanced again and sharing a common goal. The words fly out of his mouth before he’s even aware of them. It’s so easy.

“Please will you scent me, Gregory?”

Mycroft is barely finished speaking before Greg is pushing him backwards. Back, back, back. Until Mycroft’s shoulders hit the wall and then Greg is pressing his whole body against Mycroft, hard and firm, scenting almost desperately at the bend of Mycroft’s neck.

“Yes- Gregory...yes, please!” Mycroft grabs at any part of Greg his hands come into contact with, ready to physically prevent Greg from moving away if he tries. He doesn’t. Moaning, grinding against him, it’s clear Greg wanted this just as much as Mycroft. The scent of his Alpha floods Mycroft’s senses. It relaxes the constant, low level buzz of anxiety he’s felt the past weeks. It’s affirmation of their love and Greg’s desire for him. Relief. Blissful.

Sighing his thanks, Mycroft pliantly lets Greg tip his head to the other side so Greg can scent him there as well.

“Thank you.” He breathes and Greg shakes his head, his nose skimming along the column of Mycroft’s throat, provoking a shiver down his spine.

“You don’t have to thank me. I wanted to...I’ve missed you.” Greg captures Mycroft’s lips in another kiss, this one decidedly less delicate than earlier. Passionate and wonderfully demanding. Promisingly full of the hard edge Greg always uses and that Mycroft loves. Greg leaves off scenting him for the time being in favor of kissing him, but Mycroft doesn’t mind.

Greg has missed him. It’s not just Mycroft who’s been pining.

_His Alpha has missed him. He missed him. He still wants him._

The realization boosts Mycroft’s confidence, and he quickly sets to work undressing Greg, elated when the Alpha doesn’t move to stop him, too distracted with scenting Mycroft again. Greg sucks at the sensitive hollow of Mycroft’s throat and then moves further back, nose brushing along Mycroft’s skin, in search of where Mycroft’s scent is most heavily concentrated.

Mycroft’s fingers are shaky and uncoordinated, hampered further when Greg crowds closer to him. It makes Mycroft almost claustrophobic because the wall is hard at his back, unyielding, and it feels like Greg is doing his best to meld their bodies together- which the Omega part of Mycroft relishes. Highly encourages.

_Please please please please please please..._

It makes Mycroft shake harder, becoming almost desperate to get rid of the layers which separate Greg from him. He tears at the last few buttons- he’ll buy Greg a new shirt- and pushes Greg’s jacket and shirt from his shoulders, yanking at the fabric and pulling it down his arms. It forces Greg to break his hold on Mycroft so he can untangle his hands from the sleeves and Mycroft grabs at him, not wanting to let him go. Greg lets his clothes drop to the floor, uncaring, stripping off his vest too and tossing that to the side- and then he’s back, pressing even closer to Mycroft, his hands steady and sure at the fastenings of Mycroft’s own clothes. His teeth scrape against Mycroft’s neck. Provoking. A pledge for later. Mycroft whimpers.

Greg’s body against his own, heated and comfortable and familiar, makes Mycroft ache. He wishes they weren’t still in the foyer. He wants them to be in his bedroom. On his bed. Fully naked so Greg can scent him all over, scent Mycroft until he stops smelling like himself and only smells like Greg. Alpha. Enjoyed. Desired. Owned. Mycroft loves when he smells like that. When he smells like Greg.

Not all the time, of course, and certainly not at work- Mycroft has a reputation to maintain after all- but at any other time…

_Ask. Ask. Ask. Beg. Beg your Alpha-_

Greg needs verbal consent.

“Take me to bed, Gregory.”

“Oh, god.” Greg groans, sagging against him, and Mycroft feels a noticeable hardness, the thick ridge of Greg’s cock, touching his hip. Feeling daring- which is a kind word for desperate- Mycroft hesitantly rocks against that hardness, rubbing his own erection against Greg which is a rather crude thing to do. Even more so when Mycroft realizes how good it feels...and that he’s moaning into Greg’s mouth each time he does it.

“Oh, god.” Greg says again, mouth falling open as Mycroft continues to frot. “Can I-...Mycroft, can I-?”

Mycroft doesn’t know what Greg’s asking for. It doesn’t matter. He can have anything.

“Yes.” Mycroft says recklessly, and he’s rewarded immediately when Greg slides his hand between them so he can cup Mycroft’s erection, fingers mapping the flesh where it’s still trapped under the fabric of his trousers. Mycroft’s cock surges into the contact and this time it’s his turn to groan. He’s immensely glad that he’s pressed so tightly against the wall. It gives him something to lean on, a support he suddenly requires.

“Fuck. Oh, fuck. Fuck….love when you’re hard for me.” Greg whispers, fervent, rubbing at Mycroft’s erection, and Mycroft reflexively bucks into the contact, burying his face in Greg’s neck to muffle his moans. It wasn’t even a year ago that Mycroft wasn’t able to get hard for Greg, at all, no matter what they did. When Mycroft stopped taking his suppressants and finally could, Greg treated each erection like a major event. He still does. Mycroft is not complaining.

“God, I love you. Fuck. Love this...love you this way. Love when you get hard for me...you feel so fucking good, Mycroft…”

Each of Greg’s words are punctuated with a stroke over Mycroft’s cock and this. _This_. This is what Mycroft’s wanted. Greg. Greg’s attention. Greg’s pervertedly lovely attention.

“Gregory, please-“ Mycroft’s cock is leaking a wet patch on his clothes. He can feel it with every pass of Greg’s hand. Greg has to feel it too. It’s been too long. Mycroft’s already close.

“What? What do you need?” Greg doesn’t stop the wonderful motions of his hand and Mycroft thrusts against him, greedily seeking more.

_Tell him what you want. Tell your Alpha what you want from him. He wants to know. He’ll do anything for you. You know he will. He loves you. Tell him...tell him.._.

“I’m close.” Mycroft manages to choke out. “Gregory….”

“Oh, god. Can I make you come, Mycroft? Please- please can I make you come?”

It’s another unique quality of Greg’s that Mycroft hadn’t expected. Greg not only treasures Mycroft’s erections, but he’s almost slavish in his devotion to Mycroft’s orgasms. Mycroft is fairly certain most Alphas don’t care all that much about their Omega's cocks, orgasms, or general pleasure, and there’s certainly enough research to support that hypothesis. But if Mycroft ever has an erection in Greg’s presence, he will be treated to an orgasm. Without fail. By the very best of Greg’s abilities.

Mycroft nods, trying to form words which is embarrassingly hard to do at the moment- but Greg takes that as a sign of his consent, thank goodness, and keeps stroking him. Mycroft squirms, his cock hardening even further as his orgasm coalesces, feeling like it prickles along each and every nerve ending in his body. Good. Electrifying. Almost too much.

Mycroft twists against Greg. He would rather not come in his trousers. It leaves tellingly graphic stains for his dry cleaners to get out. He isn’t about to mention this to Greg for fear that he’ll stop-

The pressure of Greg’s hand against his cock is suddenly gone, leaving Mycroft jerking at the unexpected denial. He cries out in shock, eyes flying open- Greg swiftly kneels in front of Mycroft, working deftly at the belt and flies of Mycroft’s trousers-

Oh, thank goodness. Greg always knows what Mycroft wants. He knew Mycroft didn’t want to stain his clothes. Mycroft tries to help him, but he’s too uncoordinated and Greg brushes his hands away with a wicked grin.

“Let me.”

_Yes. Yes. Let your Alpha take care of you. He wants to see you come. He’s about to make you come. Let him take care of you-_

Greg tugs Mycroft’s trousers and pants over his hips and his cock springs up, flushed and hard, leaking at the tip. Before Mycroft has time to react, Greg leans forward and slides his mouth down and over the whole length of Mycroft’s cock. Mycroft’s vision whites at the edges. Greg’s mouth is hot and tight and wet and perfect and it’s been _forever_ since he’s done this. Mycroft cries out, hips jerking as Greg sucks at him, bobbing his head, but he’s barely even begun before Mycroft is coming, his cock spasming in quick pulses and Greg moans, swallowing around him, staring up at Mycroft the whole time.

When Greg stands, Mycroft tries to peel himself away from the wall and right himself but his heart is pounding and he feels distinctly wobbly. Greg wraps his arms around him, encouraging Mycroft to lean against him, and he scents at Mycroft’s neck when he does, licking his skin. Mycroft twitches, sensitive.

“Thank you.” Greg murmurs, hands running up and down Mycroft’s back, and Mycroft snorts feebly, without much derision.

“Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say to you at this point?”

“No. Never. I love doing things for you. I love making you come.”

Mycroft smirks, thinking of the perfect joke. “We’re perfectly suited then because I-”

“I’m so sorry, Mycroft.” Greg whispers and the mood abruptly shifts. This time Greg’s the one who’s shaking. “I’m so sorry about what happened during your heat. I never meant for something like that to happen.”

Mycroft doesn’t say anything. He holds Greg to him, thinking it’s a bit ridiculous that they’re having this conversation while his pants are halfway down his thighs and his cock is still out...but he doesn’t mention it.

“I thought I knew what I was doing. I really did. But then your heat started, and it’d been so long since I went through one too...and god. Having you like that...it threw me off completely. And I’m not making excuses.” Greg quickly says before Mycroft gets the wrong idea.

As if he would, Mycroft thinks sardonically, rolling his eyes where Greg can’t see. Mycroft has told Greg how he felt about what happened, but Greg was the one who had gotten the wrong idea about things.

“It was my fault, what happened. It was my fault you got hurt, but please believe me...it wasn’t intentional.”

“I know it wasn’t intentional. I’ve told you that before, Gregory. I don’t think you capable of wanton brutality.”

“But that’s exactly what it was. I shouldn’t have-”

Mycroft pulls away and Greg sighs, letting him go. He looks so upset that it breaks Mycroft’s heart, but he’s had enough of Greg tearing himself apart over this.

“You were not brutal, Gregory.” Mycroft says sternly. “I’ll remind you that I have been brutalized. I know what savage abuse during a heat is like and what you did is not that.”

Greg winces and looks away- but Mycroft grips his chin and turns the Alpha back to face him, expression implacable. He is tired of this. Greg has to understand.

“I’m not telling you that to make you feel sorry for me.” He snaps. They’ve only talked about Mycroft’s past once, but it had been a harrowing conversation. Neither wants a repeat. “I’m telling you because I want you to understand that I know the difference. I know what deliberate cruelty is, how someone acts when they are unkind and uncaring of the person they are with. I know what it feels like to be treated that way. What you and I shared during my heat was worlds away from that, Gregory. You know that.” Mycroft adds solemnly, letting go of Greg’s chin, caressing his cheek tenderly, and sees the moment Greg wants to lean into his touch...resists...then capitulates and closes his eyes, giving himself up to it. Mycroft smiles.

“You know the difference, Gregory. Did you make a mistake? Yes. Was it intentional savagery? Of course not. We’re not idiots, you and I. We know the difference.” Mycroft pulls Greg to him, gently scenting him, and Greg clutches Mycroft to him like a drowning man. “You’re a good person, a good man, and a good Alpha. One mistake doesn’t make you terrible, and it was not an unforgivable act. I’ve already forgiven you- even though there wasn’t much to forgive in the first place. You need to forgive yourself too.”

Greg doesn’t respond and Mycroft gives him time, petting Greg’s hair and enjoying his leisurely scenting, letting Greg work things out for himself, like Mycroft knows he needs to do. Finally, Greg heaves a deep sigh and steps back, squaring his shoulders, but not taking his hands away from Mycroft.

“You’re right. I know you’re right about this.”

“I’m right about everything.” Mycroft corrects him, and Greg grins ruefully.

“Yeah, I know that. I love that you’re always right.”

“You should be.” Mycroft says archly. “And it would make your life easier to listen to me first, take my word as fact, and then acquiesce to whatever needs to be done.” He smiles at Greg, heartened when the Alpha smiles back, looking happier than he has in weeks.

“I love you.” Mycroft reminds him.

“I love you.”

“And I trust you completely, Gregory.”

“I want to be worthy of that.”

“You already are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Yeah. We'll get to the knotted dildo usage next chapter. These two keep having emotions all over the place. Sorry!


	4. Chapter 4

Greg is in heaven.

Oh god, is he in fucking heaven.

The scent of Omega, happy and satisfied, is mild. Almost insubstantial it’s so weak. If Greg breathes in the wrong direction, he’ll miss it, but it is _there_.

Omega.

Unmistakable.

Greg holds himself over Mycroft, pressing the Omega down onto the bed and breathing directly against his skin, smiling when it makes Mycroft’s skin break out in a rash of gooseflesh. Mycroft's been off suppressants for more than a year, but his scent still isn’t very strong. But Mycroft does have a scent, though. That’s the important thing. It had been torture for Greg trying to scent Mycroft before he stopped taking his suppressants because there had never been any scent- absolutely nothing- which had not only been unnerving as hell, but also...disappointing.

Alphas are hardwired to lay claim to their Omegas. It’s in their DNA, a deep-seated, instinctual compulsion, and when they first got together, Greg hadn’t thought _the_ Mycroft Holmes- detached and aloof- would want to be scented. He had assumed Mycroft wouldn’t want an Alpha taking off his clothes and spending the better part of an hour rubbing against him, touching him everywhere as they laid claim.

Looking back, Greg can’t believe how fucking wrong he had been.

Because Mycroft absolutely _loves_ being scented.

Case in point: their current arrangement. Mycroft spread out on the bed, naked, passively letting Greg cover him and scent as much as he wants, flushed from the attention but with a small smile playing around his lips. He’s almost boneless beneath Greg and every time he opens his eyes, his pupils are blown, unfocused with pleasure.

Greg licks at Mycroft’s skin, slow and indulgent, making Mycroft gasp. Greg is certain he can taste the delicate fragrance on his tongue. Before Mycroft stopped taking his suppressants, he had let Greg scent him whenever he wanted...but without a scent it hadn’t been...well. It hadn’t been _enough_.

The whole point of scenting, at least to Greg, was more of an exchange- yes, laying claim that this was his Omega and he belonged to Greg, but also breathing in the scent of his mate, affirming what they shared and then being covered in their scent and feeling...wanted. He’d never had that while Mycroft stayed on his suppressants and while he’d pretended otherwise, Greg had missed it. Which is why this is so goddamn nice.

Mycroft’s scent is light and very delicate. Because of the damage he’s done to his system with his use of suppressants over the years, his scent may never be stronger than what it currently is and someone has to be pretty damn close to him to even pick up on it. Greg feels like the luckiest fucking Alpha in the whole goddamn world because he is the one who gets to be that close to Mycroft. He is the Alpha who gets to scent him. He is the one Mycroft wants. The Alpha part of Greg practically purrs with pride.

Greg inhales at the bend of Mycroft’s leg, scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin before swiping his tongue over it, and Mycroft gasps again, legs spreading just the tiniest bit further apart. He’s so responsive that it makes Greg want to groan. The last month was torture being apart from Mycroft and not having this. Greg doesn’t want that to happen ever again. He thought he’d go crazy not being able to be as close to Mycroft as he wanted, not being able to scent him, deprived of his Omega because Greg didn’t think he was worthy enough to be called Mycroft’s Alpha. He’d missed the sex, of course, because sex with Mycroft is... _fantastic_. But Greg had missed the quiet times, scenting Mycroft before they went to sleep or early in the morning before Mycroft had to shower and leave for work, the ritual making him feel wanted and accepted.

Now, finally able to scent Mycroft until his heart’s content, Greg is almost shaking with need.

No almost to it, Greg thinks with a prickle of embarrassment, watching the way his fingers shake as they spread over Mycroft’s ribcage, touching him with quiet reverence. He’s so relieved that he’s still able to have this. Greg had thought that maybe he wouldn’t be allowed, ever again-

The idea is painful. Crushing his chest until every beat of his heart hurts.

Greg leans up to kiss Mycroft, suddenly needing reassurance, and Mycroft gives it to him, cupping his cheek and giving a pleased little hum as he tilts his head into the kiss. Greg’s cock bumps against Mycroft’s thigh and before he can stop himself, he moans, the sensation zinging through his body. He’s been hard the whole time, ever since Mycroft first asked to be scented in the hallway, and he’s only gotten more aroused since then- stripping Mycroft out of his suit and laying him out on the bed before scenting him. There are streaks of Greg’s precome along Mycroft’s skin where it’s accidentally dripped and now, at the unexpected touch, Greg’s cock pleads for satisfaction.

He pants against Mycroft’s lips, the need suddenly overwhelming and he hasn’t had Mycroft in so long-

Greg jerks when Mycroft reaches down and wraps a hand around his cock, palm warm and so so soft, giving it a squeeze that has Greg bucking into the touch, moaning.

“May I make you orgasm?”

Greg closes his eyes, swallowing heavily. It should be illegal to sound that posh when asking to toss someone off. “Um…” _Fuck yes. Fuck. Yes._ “Maybe...maybe later.”

That isn’t what Greg is here for. He’s supposed to be helping Mycroft. He still doesn’t make Mycroft stop when, ignoring Greg’s half-hearted protest, he begins stroking him with obvious purpose. It feels so good. Greg’s mouth falls open as he gives tiny twitches of his hips, for all intents and purposes fucking himself into Mycroft’s hand, which is very base, but he can’t stop because it feels so good to be touched by him again. Pleasured by his Omega.

He’s craved this during their time apart. Sometimes, when the need was too great, going so far as to try and recreate the way Mycroft touched him which isn’t like anything Greg’s ever felt before. The way Mycroft gives handjobs is an artform and next to that, Greg’s paltry attempts are like...like badly done graffiti next to a stunning Monet.

Greg makes the mistake of opening his eyes and he’s not surprised that Mycroft’s looking back at him. What _is_ surprising is the look on Mycroft’s face, eyes gone dark and face hungry as he drinks in the sight of Greg’s arousal and mounting pleasure. Greg’s cock gives a hard throb which he knows Mycroft felt when Mycroft’s lips curve into a satisfied smirk-

“Mycroft-” Greg quickly lowers himself, going to his elbows so he can kiss Mycroft as his pleasure builds. His chest is heavy against Mycroft’s and the angle makes it difficult for him to keep touching Greg, but he does, tightening his grip until it’s just this side of too much. Precome wells from the tip of his cock and Mycroft’s hand unerringly sweeps it along the length, adding more slickness to his touch. It feels like a punch to the gut, driving all the air from Greg’s lungs and his balls draw up tight-

“Goddammit.” Greg wrenches himself away from Mycroft, pushing his hand away from his cock shakily. His erection bobs between his thighs and he takes pains not to touch himself or let his cock brush against Mycroft again, knowing he’ll come if he does and that’s not...he can’t…

“Gregory?” Mycroft sounds confused, and Greg can’t blame him. He shudders as his cock gives another hard throb and it’s another few seconds before Greg thinks he can look at Mycroft without losing more control.

“It’s not that I don’t want...I fucking love how it feels when you touch me...God. But. Let’s. Let’s wait.” He rambles. “I...I want to use the...devices...before I. I guess I should have waited until after to make you come too. Would have...would have probably make it easier.”

* * *

 

Mycroft wrinkles his nose. While he generally defers to Greg’s wider and more extensive knowledge of all things sexual, he has to disagree with him on this particular issue. Mycroft thinks waiting for his orgasm until after they used the devices would have rather spoiled his mood. He’s glad Greg made him come before they started all this.

Greg sees his expression and laughs and Mycroft’s eyes narrow. It’s hard to get angry when Greg is looking at him with such obvious desire, though, with an impressive erection, and so Mycroft resignedly lets the idea of making the Alpha come fade. If Greg wants to wait, that’s his prerogative. If he really thinks that he’ll still even want to come after using the devices on Mycroft….

“So what is it you actually do when you use them?”

“I just...use them.” Mycroft shrugs as he rearranges himself on the bed while Greg examines the medical devices in the top draw of Mycroft’s nightstand. Mycroft squirms with shame that Greg is even looking at them. He’s kept them clean, of course, meticulously so because Mycroft will not have it any other way with things he is putting inside his anus. But they’re still so...vulgar. With their width and girth and _knots_. And they both know that Mycroft has actually been putting them inside his anus, which makes the situation- at least to Mycroft- even more awkward.

“That sounds terrible.”

Mycroft eyes Greg suspiciously, but the Alpha is still looking at the devices where they are arranged in a neat row, his face blank. If Mycroft didn’t know better, he’d say that Greg is...laughing at him.

“It generally is terrible.” He says hesitantly, and Greg nods.

“Mm. I bet. Which one have you been using?”

“Well. I started, of course, with the smallest one.” For some reason that Mycroft can’t understand, this is very important to tell Greg this. He doesn’t want Greg thinking that he began with one of the larger ones. Mycroft doesn’t know why he feels this way. He just does. “But lately, it’s been the...the second from the, uh, left.”

“This one?” Greg holds the device in question aloft like some sort of perverted trophy. It’s the second smallest one and Mycroft's only been using it a few days. After all, his next heat is still two months away which means he has plenty of time to prepare himself...and for employing the larger device- a daunting prospect. Mycroft secretly doesn’t think such a feat is actually possible. Mycroft nods his assent and Greg shuts the drawer. He seems fascinated by the device, curiously squeezing at the fake knot and testing its elasticity, the give and take of the silicone beneath his fingers. It’s obscene to watch.

Mycroft’s cheeks heat and he quickly looks away.

“Does this...does this embarrass you?” Greg asks and the amused incredulity coloring his voice makes Mycroft feel very small and very, very stupid. He immediately goes on the defensive.

“You don’t have to help.” He snaps, sitting up from his recline, no longer wanting to be sprawled across the bed in such a revealing manner. He conceals himself with a pillow over his lap, which, at the moment, as his heart beats hummingbird fast, seems woefully inadequate. Mycroft wishes he were back in his suit. The same suit that is still laying where Greg stripped it off him: crumpled in the doorway to his bedroom. Being clothed makes Mycroft feel powerful and more in control, and that is something he desperately needs. He hadn't wanted Greg to help with this in the first place, and if he’s just going to judge Mycroft throughout the entire ordeal…

“In fact, I’m strongly inclined towards my previous opinion on the issue- of which I seem more certain with every passing moment- that it would be much more beneficial and expedient if I performed this process alone-”

“No, no!” Greg scrambles onto the bed, looking worried, and Mycroft very carefully stares at Greg’s face so he will not ogle the way his cock, still flatteringly hard, swings between his thighs. It is incredibly beguiling but they are in the middle of a row and Mycroft will not allow the sight of it distract him.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to...It’s just.” Greg starts to gesture with the device, thinks better of it, and quickly lowers it. “This does, though. Doesn’t it? It embarrasses you.”

“I don’t understand how it couldn’t. I am not a person who is in the habit of sticking odd bits of things inside my...my body.” Mycroft fumbles. He cannot say ‘anus.’ Not when he already feels so ridiculous.

“I know you’re not-”

“It is an extremely uncouth activity.”

“I know, but it doesn’t-”

“I wouldn’t be doing this _at all_ , I’ll remind you, if it weren’t for the obvious fact that I desire to share my next heat with you. Very much, as it would seem.” Mycroft’s flattered by the way Greg’s eyes go dark at the confession, his expression suddenly longing. He forges ahead. “I would therefore suggest that you appreciate the physical sacrifice I am making and stop being irritating. If you want to help, help. Otherwise, you are free to leave and I will do this on my own as I have been. I was getting along perfectly well without you.”

Mycroft knows he’s being mean, but he hates being laughed at over something which he already feels so uncomfortable about. Especially by his Alpha. It makes his skin crawl with shame.

“You’re right.” Greg says, contrite. “I’m sorry. Really. I didn’t mean to annoy you. I just didn’t expect you to be so embarrassed...but I should have. I should have known you’re not used to this. Or ever...done something like this before.”

“No. I haven’t.” Mycroft says primly and Greg gives him a smile that makes his heart flutter.

“It’d have to be embarrassing for you, sweetheart. I understand.”

Mycroft doesn’t think Greg really does understand, but he seems to be trying anyway. That’s a start. And he called Mycroft sweetheart, which in and of itself is an incredibly revolting pet name and would provoke the utmost scorn if Mycroft heard anyone else calling their mate such a silly moniker. When Greg calls him sweetheart, though, Mycroft is too pleased to be upset by it.

Greg kisses Mycroft, surprising him but not in a disagreeable way. The position presses Greg’s cock against him and even though he’s already had an orgasm, Mycroft can feel himself want to respond.

“I’m sorry. I said I was going to help but I’m being a twat.” Greg kisses him again and Mycroft lets his eyes flutter closed. He loves kissing Greg. He’s very good at it. “I haven’t ruined it, have I? Can I still help you?”

Pushing aside his lingering approbations, Mycroft nods. He’s glad he made that choice when Greg grins excitedly. He removes the pillow from Mycroft’s lap with a grand flourish and it’s almost enough to make Mycroft smile- and he does smile when Greg suggestively wags his eyebrows at him before drawing Mycroft into another kiss, this one decidedly less chaste. Mycroft enjoys the kiss, but only just. He’s expecting Greg to pull away at any second and give him directions so he can arrange himself on the bed and have the silicone awkwardly employed for it’s manufactured purpose. But Greg keeps kissing Mycroft, his hands coming up to cradle his face, and it’s not until his head hits the pillow that Mycroft realizes Greg had been slowly tipping him backwards the entire time, moving over him as he did so. Mycroft had been so caught up in his own head, waiting for the dreaded inevitable, that he hadn’t even noticed.

“Oh.” He doesn’t know what else to say to convey his surprise, blinking up at Greg in astonishment. Greg chuckles and this time Mycroft knows he’s being laughed at, but it’s fond and so he allows it.

It’s easier to spread his legs when Greg is between them, his hands warm and rough against Mycroft’s thighs before he props himself up, leaning over Mycroft to kiss him. Greg fucks into Mycroft’s mouth with his tongue, his scent all around, and the tingling feel of Greg’s naked skin against his own, after going so long without, is heady. Mycroft stifles the resulting moan as much as he can but he hooks a leg around Greg’s hips to pull him closer, his cock starting to thicken in response. He knows the exact moment Greg feels his arousal too. His lips go slack against Mycroft’s and he breathes out a curse as if he’s dying, drawing out the syllables on a groan.

It’s a very pleasing reaction. Exactly what he had been going for, and Mycroft hopes that means Greg will forget about using the devices and instead devote himself to giving them both satisfactory orgasms. Mycroft thinks it’s a much better option for their evening-

Greg pulls away from him with a regretful sigh, eyes lingering on Mycroft’s erection, clearly tempted...but then he moves himself further down the bed, laying himself out between Mycroft’s splayed legs.

Fuck.

Mycroft throws an arm over his eyes so he won’t have to watch. He holds himself grimly, waiting for Greg to get on with it, for the cold device to poke unpleasantly at his hole-

“ _Ah_!” Mycroft jolts and his arm falls away so he can stare down at Greg in complete shock. Greg grins up at him, pleased at managing to surprise him, before doing it again: lowering his head and swiping his tongue, lingering, warm and wet, directly over Mycroft’s tightly furled hole.

Mycroft shudders as his body responds automatically. This is Greg’s (and Mycroft’s for that matter) preferred prelude to intercourse- Greg working Mycroft open with his lips and tongue and fingers until Mycroft is open and so wet they almost don’t need to use lubricant. Greg keeps the device clutched in one of his hands, fist wrapped around the width of it, before giving Mycroft another long, slow lick.

“Greg-” Mycroft’s head falls back against the pillows as his cock hardens. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m helping you.” Greg’s voice, coming suggestively from between Mycroft’s thighs, sends shivery vibrations through his whole body. One of Greg’s hands comes up to rub at Mycroft’s cock with clear admiration. “It will help...trust me.”

This technique was not in the pamphlet which came with the devices and has most certainly not been approved by the NHS. But Mycroft keeps this information to himself as Greg mouths at the sensitive skin between his cock and hole, then runs his tongue down, down, down...around the rim-

“Oh...ohhh, god.” Mycroft grips a handful of duvet in each hand and lets Greg do as he pleases. He is very good at this, after all. Greg is good at everything sexual he ever does, Mycroft amends, and Mycroft is never disappointed with any of his attentions in the bedroom.

Greg’s buttocks flex as he ruts his own cock against the bed, tounging at Mycroft with wholehearted devotion, and the noises he makes are very obscene. It’s enough to make Mycroft blush- then reach down and grip at Greg’s head, angling him into the rhythm Mycroft wants so he is speared by Greg’s tongue, rolling his hips in encouragement. Greg groans and relaxes into Mycroft’s domineering grip, doing as instructed.

Greg licks at him until his hole is loose and slick and Mycroft’s hips are jerking, cock completely hard again. Greg loves the sight of it, Mycroft’s erection, if the way he can’t seem to stop touching it is anything to go by. He strokes Mycroft’s cock in time with the motions of his tongue and Mycroft wishes he could come this way. Even after earlier, it wouldn’t take much-

Alas, all good things must come to an end.

“Are you ready?”

Mycroft sighs, slumping with disappointment. As ready as he’ll ever be, he supposes. He just wants to get this over with so that he and Greg can move on to the rest of their evening in which they have mutually beneficial orgasms.

Mycroft tenses at the first touch of the device, expecting the typical cold lifelessness...but it’s warm. Body temperature from being held in Greg’s hand for so long. It’s...not horrible.

Mycroft tries to relax, letting out a deep, unsteady breath when Greg increases the pressure and the device gradually slides inside his arse. Greg’s eyes dart from where he is knelt between Mycroft’s legs to his face, judging carefully, ready to stop as he watches for the slightest hint of pain. There is none. He’s prepared Mycroft too much for that and so it’s just a slow...unhurried...slick glide....

“ _Oh_!”

The knot pops past the remaining resistance, surprising Mycroft. It stretches him more than the other device had. There will be no forgetting he has this device inside him because this one he can _feel_. Very much. His body clamps around the knot, clenching rhythmically as muscle memory takes over.

“Gregory…”

“Are you all right?”

Mycroft nods. He is all right. He is. He’s fine.

He’s also suddenly so aroused that it hurts. His hole _squeezes_ around the knot as if he’s in heat, as if his body is trying to milk come from it, which makes his cock jerk, pre-ejaculate dripping from the slit. Greg strokes at Mycroft’s trembling thighs, murmuring nonsense at him and Mycroft is too scattered to tell him to stop. His entire focus has narrowed, pinned exclusively to the knot stretching him as frissons of pleasure radiate from his arse, through his pelvis, and all the way to the very tip of his cock which dribbles out another small gush of fluid.

“Let me know if it hurts….okay? Mycroft? God, you’re doing fucking great...you’re...fuck…” Greg can’t stop touching Mycroft. His hands roam everywhere. It feels nice and Mycroft arches into the contact- then cries out when the movement presses the knot further inside him. His hole clamps down on the knot again and white hot pleasure flares, his cock jerking wildly.

“What? What? Did that hurt? Want me to take it out-”

“No. No. It’s...it’s not that.” Mycroft manages, voice shaking beyond his control as he grips at the duvet fretfully, knotting the fabric in his fingers. “It’s...It’s… it didn’t...hurt…” He frowns, confused, trying to understand exactly how it does feel because it’s bewildering. He’s never felt anything like this before and he knows it has to be because of the...

Mycroft gently rocks his hips, then freezes, crying out when the knot _rubs_ along his passage and a spurt of watery ejaculate is forced from his cock.

He has taken knots in the past, when he was a teenager, but that was so long ago he can’t remember. The only knot he can actually remember taking is Greg’s, and that from his last heat. He doesn’t have experience with this and Mycroft’s brow furrows in concentration as he tries to make sense of what his body is telling him, the sharp but somewhat enjoyable pleasure, and Greg makes a noise like Mycroft’s punched him.

* * *

 

“Oh, Jesus…”

He’s going to die.

No. Seriously. He is going to fucking die, right here and now, because Mycroft Holmes is going to be the death of him. Greg’s over forty and there’s no bloody way the things his heart is doing are normal.

“Oh, Jesus fuck.” Greg’s heart is about to beat out of his chest as he watches Mycroft, eyes closed and face crumpling in pleasure, rock his hips, essentially fucking himself on the fake knot.

“What can I do?” He asks desperately, unable to stop touching Mycroft. “Mycroft? What do you want me to do? What can I do?”

Mycroft doesn’t respond, rolling his hips again, angling them, to make the device move inside him, mouth falling open at the obviously resulting, gratifying burst sensation, and Greg’s cock gives a hard throb. He sucks in a sharp breath. He wants to touch himself so badly. It would only take a few strokes-

He can’t. He wants to be ready for anything Mycroft may want. Anything. Please, god, anything.

“Gregory…Please…”

“What do you need? What? Anything, Mycroft, I’ll do anything.” Greg vows fervently, meaning it from the very depths of his soul. He’d do anything for Mycroft, always, but especially now as Mycroft works to make himself come around a fake knot, looking adorably confused. Greg’s throat goes dry when Mycroft opens his eyes, staring at him with such longing.

“I...I don’t…”

“What do you need?”

Mycroft licks his lips, shuddering. Another spurt of ejaculate dribbles down his cock and Greg watches it, wants to lick it off-

“Want me to...do you think you’d like me to-”

Mycroft nods, twisting and spreading his legs further apart, giving Greg even more room between them. “Please?”

As if Mycroft would ever have to beg Greg to do this.

Greg wraps his lips around the tip of Mycroft’s cock, encouraging him to thrust his hips, fucking himself with the device, and Mycroft does with a sob. They establish something of a rhythm, Mycroft pushing his hips down onto the bed to make the device move, and then up to slide his cock into Greg’s mouth. He gasps with each conflicting stimulus, forward then back, again...and again...and again…speeding up until he is panting, working himself with agitation...

Oh fucking goddamn. Greg is going to die. He's seriously going to die.

* * *

 

The knot stretches Mycroft, his hole tightening desperately around it, muscles straining so hard to come that it hurts.

But he can’t.

Frustrated tears spring to Mycroft’s eyes as he grinds his arse against the bed, Greg’s mouth wonderful on his cock as he swallows him down, trying to get more. Trying to come. He's so close and it feels so good...but he can't...

He sobs out a desperate breath and turns his head, hiding his face in the bend of his arm as he grinds again...

“Mycroft?” Greg asks, pulling away from his cock, worried. “Are you all right? Am I hurting you?”

“No. I don’t....” Mycroft’s cock gives a hard throb, repeatedly, in time to the clenching of his body around the knot. Clear ejaculate spools from the tip of his cock. His stomach is already covered in it. “I’m sorry, but...I...I can’t…”

“Can’t what? What do you need?”

“I just...I can’t come...like this…it’s too…” Mycroft shakes his head. He doesn’t know what it is, but he knows he won’t be able to come this way. Greg looks torn, biting his lip, eyes roaming over Mycroft’s face.

“Maybe...do you want me to…”

“Please, Gregory…” _Anything_. Please.

Greg reaches between Mycroft’s buttocks and grasps the flared edge of the device. Carefully, he pulls on it and Mycroft groans at the stretch. His muscles are stiff, putting up a fight and locking as they try to keep the knot inside him, that it’s almost too much-

Greg hesitates, then gives the device a gentle shove, rocking it back into Mycroft’s body.

Mycroft gasps, eyes flaring wide as pleasure crests sharply. Almost...He shakes, feeling frantic- “Gregory! Yes- _yes_ , like that! Like that- again-“

He feels a twinge of shame at how he's behaving, the way he's begging Greg, but as Greg hurries to obey, his hands shaking, moaning, Mycroft can't feel too embarrassed. Greg tugs at the device, the largest part of the knot stretching Mycroft’s rim- and one more firm shove of the knot inside his arse and Mycroft’s coming, shouting in surprise, ejaculate splashing on his stomach as he comes untouched. His arse clenches around the knot while his cock jerks through his orgasm and Mycroft is distantly aware that he’s being very loud but he can’t seem to make himself stop. Greg seems to love it, if the way he is staring at Mycroft is any indication.

As soon as Mycroft slumps, as soon as his orgasm is over, Greg throws himself on top of him with a growled “Oh, fuck- yes!” and then Greg’s kissing him, his tongue in Mycroft’s mouth. Mycroft can feel Greg touching himself, stroking his cock harshly and just when Mycroft thinks that maybe he should be helping...Greg groans, lips going against lax against Mycroft’s, hips twitching forward as he comes.

“Oh, god, Mycroft.” Greg breathes and Mycroft attempts to say something as a witty rejoinder, but when he inhales, the air is spiced with Alpha and the smell of sex and come and he finds that he can’t speak around his own satisfaction.

It’s wonderful.

* * *

 

Greg volunteers to help with cleanup, but for all that Mycroft loves him, he knows that Greg’s version of “cleanup” is lackadaisically swiping things down with a wet flannel. Mycroft is too fussy to be easy with that. He washes up in the loo, using actual soap, and cleans the device before replacing it where it belongs, in the drawer with its fellow deviants.

They ready for bed tiredly. It’s already gone two in the morning but tomorrow’s Sunday and they’ll get to have a lie in. Even if Mycroft had had to work, though, he would have gladly sacrificed a few hours sleep to have this with Greg. They slide into bed together and Greg automatically reaches for Mycroft who rolls towards the Alpha, getting wrapped up in his arms and relaxing as Greg scents at the top of his head.

“I’m glad you’re back.” Mycroft admits shyly in the quiet darkness. “I...missed you. Quite badly.”

“I missed you too. _Fucking_ badly.” Greg hugs Mycroft closer. “Was that all right? Earlier?”

“Do you really have to ask? Aren’t you supposed to be a detective?”

“Oy-” Greg pushes Mycroft away, but it’s half-hearted and Mycroft easily hangs on.

“Yes, Gregory.” He laughs, smiling and feeling like an absolute idiot. “It was lovely.”

“Good.” Greg resettles and Mycroft thinks they will sleep- he’s very tired- but Greg has one more question. “Mycroft?”

“Hm?”

“What _did_ you do when you used them? Those? On your own.”

Mycroft shuffles closer to Greg, rubbing his cheek against his chest and getting comfy so he can sleep. “Paperwork.”

They’re pressed close enough that Mycroft feels all of Greg’s muscles suddenly lock, his breathing going funny, short pants in and out through his nose, and when Mycroft glares at him in the dark-

“You’re laughing at me.”

“No, I’m not!” Greg’s protest is undermined when he bursts into laughter right after. Mycroft shoves him away, pride wounded. He doesn’t have to lay in his own bed and be laughed at.

“No, wait!” Greg manages through his laughter. “I’m sorry-”

Mycroft doesn’t wait. He manages to make it to the edge of the bed before Greg grabs him around the middle and hauls him back, still laughing. Mycroft puts up a fight for dignity’s sake, but he lets Greg pull him back into the bed, manhandling him around and apologizing with kisses, still giggling.

“Mm. I’d like to watch you do paperwork with a knot up your arse.”

“Gregory.” Mycroft gently scolds, cheeks heating, and Greg hugs him even tighter, smacking a kiss against the heated skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just have to write about Mycroft's heat next because Mycroft deserves nice things and I can't think of anything nicer than getting to be fucked silly by Alpha!Greg ;)


End file.
